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Re: [BIOWAR] Al Qaida biological warfare factories attacked (fwd)
by mmotyka＠lsil.com 11 Oct '01

11 Oct '01

Steve Furlong <sfurlong(a)acmenet.net> wrote : >Eugene Leitl wrote: > >http://www.haaretzdaily.com/hasen/pages/ShArt.jhtml?itemNo=81505&contrassID… >... >> Among the bases attacked in the U.S.-led strikes in Afghanistan was an >> Osama bin Laden camp which served as a production facility for >> poisonous chemicals, including biological warfare agents. > >If that proves out, I'd say the US can now tell the Taliban, roll over >or be nuked, in accordance with long-held US policy. Same for any other >nation which assisted Osama bert Laden and his gang of merry thugs. > >SRF > On a similar "pulling out all the stops" note, I'll betcha a nickel that the early indicators of biological weapons use and the potential for nuclear and chemical attacks means that the CIA gets first dibs on prisoner interrogations with no restrictions on methods. Hard to not approve, actually, when you consider that something like variola can have ~30% mortality and would have likely nearly 100% infection rate. Rules? Screw the rules. Mike

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How civil liberties groups split over Senate wiretap bill
by Declan McCullagh 11 Oct '01

11 Oct '01

http://www.wired.com/news/politics/0,1283,47490,00.html ... Civil liberties groups have split over how to react to the impending vote on the most important wiretapping and eavesdropping bill in a generation. The American Civil Liberties Union has taken a hard-line approach, asking its members to reject the entire bill. An alert calls the USA Act "a bill that would significantly undermine many of the freedoms that Americans hold dear." The Electronic Frontier Foundation of San Francisco has taken a similar position, saying that "Sen. Feingold is expected to offer some amendments, but they will not address all of the concerns with this legislation." Feingold's amendments rewrite only a tiny portion of the vast bill. Even with them, the USA Act would still allow police to conduct Internet eavesdropping without a court order in some circumstances, allow federal prosecutors to imprison non-citizens indefinitely, and extend the duration of an electronic surveillance order issued by a secret court from 90 to 120 days. The Washington-based Center for Democracy and Technology is taking a noticeably milder approach. CDT is not urging the activists who populate its e-mail alert lists to tell their senators to oppose the USA Act. Instead, in an alert dated late Wednesday, CDT says: "Call your senators in Washington right away and let them know that you think civil liberties should be part of the balance as we move forward to protect our country from terrorism. Urge them to support the Feingold privacy amendments." ...

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Taleban code message on BBC
by citizenQ 11 Oct '01

11 Oct '01

>I believe that qualify as taunting Happy Fun Fed. > Unless it's BBC, seemingly undaunted by Condi's teeth. http://news.bbc.co.uk/hi/english/world/monitoring/media_reports/newsid_1593… prints "verbatim excerpts" of a Taleban statement - probably enough to include sufficient bit-density for code transmission. Might have been treated differently if a statement by Obl? >-Declan > >At 09:27 AM 10/11/01 -0500, Harmon Seaver wrote: >> Perhaps someone out of country could put the recorded interviews up on >>a website in streaming/realplayer/quicktime/whatever format?

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Re: Freedoms Curtailed In Defense Of Liberty
by Declan McCullagh 11 Oct '01

11 Oct '01

On Thu, Oct 11, 2001 at 10:00:14AM -0400, Trei, Peter wrote: > The scary thing, or course, is that this is so close to current > government rhetoric that intelligent, observent people have to > look twice realize that (for the moment) it's satire. > > Life is starting to imitate art. Too bad the artist is Orwell. In that particular story, art is not imitating life, but quoting from it. The Onion story: http://www.theonion.com/onion3736/freedoms_curtailed.html "all Americans -- not just outspoken talk-show hosts like Bill Maher -- must watch what they say" The WH spokesman's real quote: "There are reminders to all Americans that they need to watch what they say, watch what they do, and this is not a time for remarks like that; there never is." -Declan

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[BIOWAR] Al Qaida biological warfare factories attacked (fwd)
by Eugene Leitl 11 Oct '01

11 Oct '01

-- Eugen* Leitl <a href="http://www.lrz.de/~ui22204/">leitl</a> ______________________________________________________________ ICBMTO: N48 04'14.8'' E11 36'41.2'' http://www.lrz.de/~ui22204 57F9CFD3: ED90 0433 EB74 E4A9 537F CFF5 86E7 629B 57F9 CFD3 ---------- Forwarded message ---------- Date: Wed, 10 Oct 2001 18:07:47 -0400 From: ds2000 <ds2000(a)mediaone.net> To: Biowar <biowar(a)topica.com> Subject: [BIOWAR] Al Qaida biological warfare factories attacked >From Ha'aretz, http://www.haaretzdaily.com/hasen/pages/ShArt.jhtml?itemNo=81505&contrassID… - Last update - 15:00 10/10/2001 Al Qaida biological warfare factories attacked By Ze'ev Schiff, Ha'aretz Defense Commentator Among the bases attacked in the U.S.-led strikes in Afghanistan was an Osama bin Laden camp which served as a production facility for poisonous chemicals, including biological warfare agents. The present strategic situation is one of the reasons that Washington is being extremely careful in disclosing the targets that American and British planes hit in Afghanistan over the past three days. Information on the targets has not been readily supplied, not even to fellow members of the international anti-terror coalition. According to information provided by Western sources, it seems that U.S. intelligence holds "detailed information on the location of bin Laden's Al Qaida organization camps." The U.S. and British air strike targeted instructional and training bases near the cities of Jalalabad and Khut, located close to the Afghanistan-Pakistan border. Apparently, one of the bin Laden bases attacked, which was both small and secret, manufactured various poisons, including biological warfare agents. Professional bases as well as Al Qaida manufacturing centers, including intelligence instructional bases near Kandahar and Kabul have also been hit. According to Western claims, Al Qaida members were trained to carry out attacks and hijackings at these bases. Another base attacked in the region was a chief manufacturer of explosive materials. According to this information it seems that the American and other intelligence services knew about Al Qaida's involvement in the chemical and biological warfare realm prior to the strikes. -- Dan S Post to: biowar(a)topica.com. Unsubscribe to: biowar-unsubscribe(a)topica.com. List info: www.topica.com/lists/biowar ==^================================================================ EASY UNSUBSCRIBE click here: http://topica.com/u/?bz8Q0W.a9I0on Or send an email To: biowar-unsubscribe(a)topica.com This email was sent to: Eugene.Leitl(a)lrz.uni-muenchen.de T O P I C A -- Register now to manage your mail! http://www.topica.com/partner/tag02/register ==^================================================================

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FY;) [w00f] Arabian Psycho
by Eugene Leitl 11 Oct '01

11 Oct '01

---------- Forwarded message ---------- Date: Wed, 10 Oct 2001 13:03:49 -0600 From: Ben Reed <breed(a)co.yellowstone.mt.us> Reply-To: w00f(a)rye.org To: Kathy Anderson <kanderson(a)co.yellowstone.mt.us>, w00f(a)rye.org Subject: [w00f] Arabian Psycho A Beachside Cafe in Opa-Locka "You should match your ghitra to your kandura," Waleed Alsheri tells Abdulaziz Alomari, who's listening intently, stirring his yogurt on the rocks with a swizzle stick. "Who says?" Abdulaziz asks. "Now, listen," Alsheri patiently explains. He's drinking a glass of apricot nectar and eating rice wrapped in grape leaves with goat sausage and, incongruously, French fries. "If you wear a white ghitra, you wear a white kandura. It's as simple as that." "But wait," I interrupt. "What if his bischt is black?" "For God's sake, Ali-Hamoud," Alsheri moans. "I wasn't talking about dressing for a fucking wedding. What's wrong with you?" "The bischt isn't only for formal occasions anymore," I shoot back. "Sure, the older, thicker bischts, the ones made of heavy wool or cotton material, are used exclusively for ceremonial occasions. But the lighter version, the semi-see-thru bischt made of thin linen, is often worn now as an everyday alternative to formal business wear. As professional attire, it has a playful but regal quality, but it is also the garment of a good Muslim." Alomari nods as though he's taking this in, but I know that he knows this already, and it irritates me that he's pretending. "Okay," he says. "I get it. But what about the color? Fine, black, beige, and brown, but what about the gold trim? Isn't the use of gold trim restricted anyway depending on the social status of the wearer?" "Fuck you, Abdul," I hiss. "You know as well as I do that it's the material, not the color, that signifies social status. Is that your Taurus double-parked out there?" He peers under the table canopy toward the street, seeming crestfallen all of the sudden. A pair of ripped jogger-faggots wearing sweat-drenched Florida State t-shirts trots by. "No," he whispers, shaking his head sadly. "No, that's not mine. I don't have a Taurus." The three of us, Abdulaziz Alomari, Waleed Alsheri, and I are sitting at Easy Earl's beachside cafe in Opa-Locka, and it's a little after four. Alsheri is wearing a beige ankle-length dishdara with flared bushti and red micro-piping, a matching gahfiyya and gold-encrusted agal made of tightly-wrapped spider silk, all by Fahad, and black Mecca sandals with camelskin toe-straps that I mistakenly think at first are Nila Rafiq but which are actually, Alsheri tells me later, handmade. Alomari is wearing an understated sleeveless Elham Abbas kandura, a red-and-white patterned El Mouf ghtira, and a pair of tan Armani poplin shorts to help fight of the hot Florida weather (we're allowed to wear shorts with a kandura). Our table is on a raised oak deck overlooking the ocean. I'm wearing a Joseph Abboud solid red silk dishdara that comes with a matching exercise bag and, like Alomari, a red-and-white patterned ghtira-gahfiyya arrangement, although mine is Elham Abbas and much more expensive. Alomari and Alsheri finished their flight classes early for facials somewhere and their tans look good. The O'Reilly Report today was about the expansion of NATO to include the Baltic states. "Guys, guys," I say. "Who's sitting with Karim Koubriti over there? Is that Ahmed Hannan?" "Negative," Alsheri grunts. "That's Nabil Al-Marabh. You can tell by the crop-duster glasses." There's a short but uncomfortable silence at the table. "No," says Alomari quietly. "That's not Al-Marabh." "Are you sure?" I ask. He nods, and you can see it all of the sudden: he's never been more sure of anything in his life. "It's not Al-Marabh," he says. "It's... Atta." The infidel hardbody waitress, definitely an FSU cheerleader type (or maybe Georgia Tech), blond, huge tits, snake-pattern tattoo encircling the left bicep, sleeveless cutoff T-shirt, denim jeans, friendly face, comes over to ask if we want a new drink. We've been coming here every day for four weeks and she's always asking us questions, trying to make conversation and get to know us. "Where y'all fellas from?" she asked Koumbari and me yesterday. "Howdaya like Opa-Locka?" "Opa-what?" I answered. "Opa-Locka," she said. "Our town." "I know it's the fucking town," I growled, and after that she didn't ask us any more questions. Now she's trying to smile but is definitely keeping her distance as she steps around Alsheri's dishdara to pick up his plate. "They make them healthy here, that's for sure," Alsheri says, leering, as she walks away. "Just once, God," Alomari says, mock-bowing toward Mecca. "Just once. After that, you can do what you want with me." "Yeah," snorts Alsheri. "He can do what he wants with you. Just wait." I'm not sure how Alomari knows Atta so well-maybe through the Germans?-and it slightly pisses me off but I decide to even up the score a little bit by showing everyone my new box cutter. I pull it out of my exercise bag (Ahmed's, $39) and slap it on the table, waiting for reactions. "What's that, a lighter?" Alsheri asks, not apathetically. "New box cutter," I say, trying to act casual about it, but I'm smiling proudly. "Opinions?" "Whoa," Alomari says, lifting it up, snapping the blade in and out of its stainless steel sheath, turning it until it glints in the sunlight. "That is nice, Ali-Hamoud. Take a look." He hands it to Alsheri. "Picked it up at Staples yesterday," I say. "Jiffi Safe Cutter, 2 and 3/4", Left hand model, custom-shined. Ninety-seven dollars for a pack of six." "Good coloring," Alsheri says, studying it closely. "That's Siberian steel," I point out. "Something called Omsk Blue." "Omsk blue?" Alsheri asks. "Really stands out, doesn't it?" "Yeah," Alsheri says guardedly, the jealous bastard, "it is cool, Ali-Hamoud. I'm sure the fucking metal detectors will like it, too." Alomari doubles over. "Oh, shit," he says, wheezing with laughter. "Oh, shit!" Alsheri just sits there, grinning smugly, pulls something out of his bag and slaps it down on the table, next to the napkin dispenser. "What you really need," he says, "is something like this." He turns to me. "What do you think?" "Nice," I croak, but under the table my hand is involuntarily gathering into a fist. "Good God," Alomari says, picking it up. "Is that a three-color plastic design?" "Four," Alsheri says. I snatch it away from Alomari, who's smaller than me and, I think, worried that I might secretly be on the liquidation team. He relinquishes it instantly. "Where's the fourth?" I say, not looking up. "I only see three." "Modern Specialties, Inc.," Alsheri says. "Kutto Master Carton Cutter. Model #20. Right-hander. The shell is three-color plastic, but get this: the blade is plastic, too. Well, the outside of it, anyway." "An alloy?" Alomari says, admiringly. Alsheri shakes his head. "Not only," he said. "The body is a plastic alloy. But there's a hardened polymer coating. Totally undetectable." Even I have to admit it's magnificent. Suddenly the cafe seems far away, the wind dies, even the sound of the waves diminishes, everything a meaningless hum, next to this box-cutter, as I hear Alomari reading the sans serif inscription on the shell: "Al-Qaida, Laden, Inc..." "Holy shit," Alomari says. "I've never seen anything like-" Atta stops by our table on his way out. He's wearing sunglasses by Persol and he's carrying a briefcase by Coach Leatherware. "Allah Akhbar," he says. "What have we got here, box cutters?" He lowers his sunglasses just to make sure, picking up Alsheri's, not even looking at mine. "Modern Specialties, Inc. I recognize it. The Kutto Master. Not bad-but look at this." He opens up his briefcase and takes out a large plastic shopping bag and turns it upside down, emptying the contents-a good two dozen completely translucent box cutters-onto the table. One spills off the edge, bounces off the deck, and lands in the sand. A fat infidel who's been sitting at the next table with his fat infidel wife and their two children with jelly-stained faces reaches down to pick it up, just being friendly. Atta slaps at his arm. "Hands off, devil," he hisses. "I'm just trying to help-" the infidel begins. "Help yourself first," Atta snaps. "Lose some goddamn weight." "And stay away from New York," Alsheri says. "Shut up, you fool," Atta snaps. The infidel crawls back to his seat. Catching his breath-he was shaken by this totally unnecessary interruption-Atta picks up one of the cutters on the table, flicks open the blade, and holds it, demonstratively, to Alomari's throat. "Griptite, USA-made, three-inch, Right-hand models all," he says. "These are custom-built diamond box cutters. Razor sharp, saws through iron. Individually, they cost $960 apiece, but I got a volume discount-96 for $80,000. And the guy who made them is already dead." "Is this the Cedar Rapids factory?" asks Alomari, the ass-kisser. Atta turns to him and frowns contemptuously, which pleases me. "Cedar Rapids? Griptite's Cedar Rapids location is closed. These are from Butte." "Opened three months ago," sighs a defeated Alsheri. Atta turns to me. "What do you think, Ali-Hamoud?" "Nice," I say. "Very nice." Flight School I'm on the verge of tears by the time we reach SimCenter because I'm positive we won't get any time on the simulator, but there's practically no line when we get there, and relief that is almost revelatory in scope washes over me in an awesome spiritual wave. The instructor is a serious infidel hardbody, not quite blond, huge tits, good ass, blue instructor's suit by Karl Lagerfeld, silk gazar blouse, gold sling-back pumps. I'm positive Alsheri has fucked her. It's near impossible to get screen time at SimCenter on short notice and I think the rest of us-besides Waleed, I'm with Alomari and Ahmed Hannan-are a little jealous of Alsheri's prowess in securing reservations. When we piled into the 1989 Pontiac Grand Prix in Palm Beach we realized we had no simulator time booked and while we debated the merits of a new program at Huffman aviation-my panic so great I nearly slit my wrists with one of Atta's diamond boxcutters-a consensus seemed to emerge. Alsheri had the only dissenting voice but he finally shrugged and said, "I don't give a shit," and dialed up SimCenter on a secure satellite phone as we rolled out onto the highway. "Okay, pop TQ quiz," Hannan says. "On what days can you trim your beard in Kabul?" "You can never trim your beard in Kabul," I say, annoyed. "You can do it in private," Alomari says haughtily. "When no one is looking. If you do it less than once every two months, no one notices." "Oh, really?" I say. "And where do you plan on doing it, Alomari? In the bathroom? Where your wife might come in? Not fucking likely." "Come on, Ali-Hamoud," Hannan says, flicking on his left turn blinker and glancing over his shoulder. "You've got to remember you're dealing with true Islam in Kabul. No wife would dare raise her hand to point a finger at a husband, for God's sake. They'd fucking put her to death just for that. And you can go back to trimming your beard. There's another one of those new Volkswagen bugs." "The old ones were better," Alsheri says absently. "They were cheaper." He's been in a bad mood about something since before the call to SimCenter. "Hannan," I say sharply. "Whether or not you can get away with trimming your beard in front of your wife... that's not the point. A Muslim's job is to provide an example for his family. And besides..." "Here we go again..." Hannan groans. "You're a goddamn cleric, you know that, Ali-Hamoud?" "And besides," I continue, "you're forgetting the main problem, which is that the main issue with trimming your beard is that fucking God sees it. It is written: 'Conduct yourself with justice and bear true witness before God, even though it be against yourselves, your parents, your... your..." "Your what, Ali-Hamoud?" Hannan snaps. "Your what?" "Your hairy ass?" Alsheri says, brightening suddenly. "Ali-Hamoud's ass isn't hairy," Alomari says. "I've seen it. He bent over to pick up a penny last week and his kandera fell down. Caused some infidel faggot to wreck his car on Dale Mabry highway." Alsheri gives him a high five. Even Hannan laughs. "Your kinsfolk," I interrupt. "Even though it be against your kinsfolk. What's wrong with you people? Aren't you even Muslims?" "Ali-Hamoud, you are some kind of morose bastard," Hannan says. "You should cut down on the goddamn nectar." When we get to the waiting room at SimCenter Alsheri and Hannan disappear suddenly and I know right away what's going on. Five minutes later Alsheri returns more pissed off than ever. "This place sucks," he says. "You can't even get your prayer mat down in the bathroom stalls." "Why don't you go outside like everyone else?" I say, pointing at a bucktoothed infidel in a tie, short-sleeved white Arrow shirt and baseball hat who is sitting across the room. "Ricky here isn't afraid to pray in the parking lot. Are you, Ricky?" "It's Billy," the infidel says meekly. Alsheri scrunches his nose in disgust, as though smelling rotted cheese. "Who cares what your fucking name is?" he shouts. "There's ESPN in the other room if you don't like it. Infidel." "I... I do pray in the parking lot," Billy says. He looks too old for college but too dumb for adulthood. "You see, Waleed?" I say. "He does pray in the parking lot." "Bullshit," Alsheri says. "No one prays in a parking lot. Not even an infidel." "Why shouldn't he?" I say. "He's accepted Jesus Christ as his personal savior. Haven't you, Billy?" "I have," Billy says. "Yes, sir, I found the Lord. He helped me through a trane-sishunul peer-yud." "Yeah?" Alsheri snorts. "What 'tranesishunl peer-yud was that?" "Ah was incarcerated," Billy says. "I had sinned against the Lord. Which is the same as sinning against myself." This kid is a real winner. "What were you in for, Billy?" I say, in a comforting voice. The infidel leans forward and swallows so hard his tie leaps forward. "I had exposed myself to a person of under-a person of younger-to a minor." "Well, that's brave of you to admit that, Billy," I say. "Now do you mind telling us: what the fuck are you doing in Boeing flight school?" "Is that what this is?" he says. "I had no idea. I'm just here for a janitor's job. They told me this was an airport." "It's an airport," Hannan groans, "and a flight school. Mother of God." He slaps his forehead. "How do these people feed themselves?" Alomari whispers to me. "They put them out in fields," I say sagely, "to graze." "Okay," Alsheri says, getting up and walking toward the door, his gold-embossed Fahad sandals clacking against the tile. "That's it. I'm leaving. There has to be some place in this fucking town to pray. You idiots can do what you like." "Good riddance," Hannan says. "Now there's less competition for the instructor." "She's too old to fuck anyway," Alsheri says, walking out the door. A Glimpse of a Tuesday Morning And it's early morning and I find myself standing in line at the check-in at Logan airport behind three infidels in suits, they don't know what's coming, and I'm sweaty and a pounding migraine thumps dully in my head and I'm experiencing a major-league anxiety attack, searching my pockets for Valium, Xanax, an apricot pit, and all I find are three sesame seeds in a Fari Narwaq pillbox, so I pop all three in my mouth and swallow it with a chocolate Yoo-Hoo and I couldn't tell you where it came from if my life depended on it. I've forgotten who I'm on this run with and, more importantly, where I'm supposed to be sitting. Is it next to Atta, who's standing far ahead of me in line and glaring at me (even though he's not actually looking at me or turning around at all, I can tell, just by looking at the back of his head, that he's glaring at me all the same), trying to convince me to calm down? Or is it next to Alsheri? Is Alsheri even on this flight? There's someone about 10 feet behind me who looks like Alsheri, but couldn't that also be Al Shehhi? Not that I haven't spent a lot of time with Alsheri, I have, I've seen him almost every day, he's the only interesting person I know, but I still can't even distinguish this person, objectively important in my life, from a stranger. Did I have the yogurt kebabs last night for dinner, or was it moussaka? "Oh, God in heaven, I can't remember." But soon we're on the plane and everything is clear: Atta is bounding into the cockpit, diamond boxcutter in hand, and Alsheri/Al-Shehhi is pouncing on the two hardbody infidel stewardesses in the front of the cabin, and suddenlly the plane lurches sharply downward and to the left, screams everywhere, total pandemonium, but then magically my composure is regained, this is all automatic now, I've been through this a thousand times before, and mechanically I stagger forward toward the cockpit as the plane rights itself and quickly I assume the seat of the (already deceased) navigator and shut off the radar tracking devices before shouting into the radio, "I am a personal acquaintance of Assad's second cousin. Do you hear me? I know him personally." The infidel voice on the other end of the line, confused: "UA 11, repeat transmission, over, didn't catch that, over." "My kandera never fell off in Tampa. I never picked up that penny!" "Shut the fuck up, you moron!" Atta is screaming, I can only see the back of his head, his ears are highlighted against the sun shining in from the cockpit window, clouds are rushing past us, and I look down and I'm holding the microphone in my hand weakly, like it's something limp and soggy, but I'm still whispering to somebody "ghirta ghirta ghirta" then the clouds parted and the skyline appeared Benjamin W. Reed Deputy Public Defender 2708 1st Ave. N., Ste. 400 Billings, MT 59101 (406) 256-6861 fax: (406) 256-6899 Please treat this e-mail as confidential. _______________________________________________ w00f mailing list w00f(a)rye.org http://www.rye.org/mailman/listinfo/w00f

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You have been depressed lately!
by nectar＠freeasiaxxx.com 11 Oct '01

11 Oct '01

Youre gunna laugh your ass off at this one: My newest girlfriend Tammy dumped me for looking at online porn. Not only that, but she accidentally walked in on me while I was looking at it http://www.freeasiaxxx.com/g1/ (if you are curious). Heres the best part, HER MOM WAS WITH HER!!!!!! Man, It was TOTALLY HUMILIATING! I had a fist fulla hand cream, pants down to my ankles, this awesome movie of 2 Japanese girls impaling each other with HUGE dildos, the full deal. Her mom screamed, Tammy started yelling at me (she was so pissed!), and all I could do was laugh. She broke up with me that night and called me a disgusting perv (she was lame anyway). So now I say, Fuck settling down, fuck lame-ass girls, FREE P0RN is the way to go! Check it out: http://www.freeasiaxxx.com/g1/ If you want us to stop sending you email then click here: http://www.freeasiaxxx.com/db/

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RE: Freedoms Curtailed In Defense Of Liberty
by Trei, Peter 11 Oct '01

11 Oct '01

> measl@mfn.org[SMTP:measl@mfn.org] wrote: > > > On Wed, 10 Oct 2001, Steve Furlong wrote: > > > measl(a)mfn.org wrote: > > > > > Yeah, the fascist government of the united states... > > > > > Jesus christ!!! What was that about watering the tree??? > > > > > > The (elided) article from _The Onion_. You might not want to rely on > > Shit! I didn't catch that! I've obviously been working way too many > hours :-( > > > SRF > > -- > Yours, > J.A. Terranson > sysadmin(a)mfn.org > The scary thing, or course, is that this is so close to current government rhetoric that intelligent, observent people have to look twice realize that (for the moment) it's satire. Life is starting to imitate art. Too bad the artist is Orwell. Peter Trei

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Bert-Bin Laden: Declan explains it all
by Xeni Jardin 11 Oct '01

11 Oct '01

-----Original Message----- From: owner-politech(a)politechbot.com [mailto:owner-politech@politechbot.com]On Behalf Of Declan McCullagh Sent: Wednesday, October 10, 2001 8:24 AM To: politech(a)politechbot.com Subject: FC: Muppets at war: Sesame Street's Bert in pro-Bin Laden poster --- The Bangladeshi poster: http://www.tctubantia.nl/CDA/regioportal/1%2c2078%2c1654__772741_%2c00.html http://harvard.pawlo.com/bangladesh.jpg http://dailynews.yahoo.com/h/p/nm/20011009/wl/imdf09102001085522a.html The Bert-Osama clip art's origins: http://www.angelfire.com/de/cheatsbert/p3laden.html http://www.fractalcow.com/bert/bert.htm --- http://www.wired.com/news/conflict/0,2100,47450,00.html Osama Has a New Friend By Declan McCullagh (declan(a)wired.com) 7:18 a.m. Oct. 10, 2001 PDT WASHINGTON -- Evil Bert, meet Evil Osama. Right now, the two appear to be inseparable -- at least on ubiquitous posters carried by pro-Taliban protesters. Devotees of freak-humor websites will recall the infamous "Bert is Evil" page, a shrine to the gourd-like Sesame Street character, which offers compelling photographic evidence of the muppet consorting with Hitler, the KKK and, of course, Jerry Springer. Now, in a move that defies all rules of logic, a doctored photo showing Bert with the world's most-wanted terrorist, Osama bin Laden, seems to have made its way into an anti-American Islamic protest in Bangladesh. Reuters photographs of a rally this week organized by Jaamiat-e-Talabaye Arabia, a radical Islamic organization, show that protesters created a pro-bin Laden sign out of a collage of photos they apparently lifted from Internet sites. But -- is it fate or coincidence? -- the sign featured a Bert muppet sitting on the left side of the man believed to be responsible for the bloodiest terrorist attack in U.S. history. [...] ------------------------------------------------------------------------- POLITECH -- Declan McCullagh's politics and technology mailing list You may redistribute this message freely if you include this notice. Declan McCullagh's photographs are at http://www.mccullagh.org/ To subscribe to Politech: http://www.politechbot.com/info/subscribe.html This message is archived at http://www.politechbot.com/ -------------------------------------------------------------------------

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Re: Talking to the Press Considered Harmful
by drt＠un.bewaff.net 11 Oct '01

11 Oct '01

Declan McCullagh <declan(a)well.com> writes: > On Thu, Oct 11, 2001 at 12:02:35PM +0200, Doobee R. Tzeck wrote: > > supprise me because journalists are information dealers trying to > > get maximum value from minimum effort. Since "trouth" doesn't > > really attribute to value of an information they sell, why should > Obviously you don't understand the media biz. If you really were > doing PR for CCC, they had a pretty poor excuse for a flack. Sure, thats why I and others at koeln.ccc.de started just telling journalists to go away, it works fine for us and saves a lot of time. Andy Mueller Maguhn can play the Media Bizz game with far better success, but success for whom? But I still would be very glad if you as a person probably understanding the media biz can give a hint what is so fundamentally wrong about the assumptions in above paragraph. thanks drt -- teenage mutant ninja hero coders from da c0re - http://c0re.jp/ me - http://koeln.ccc.de/~drt/

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